They Always Leave
by Sparkifyed
Summary: Nobody cares about the guy at the Turkey-on-a-Fork stand. That is, until a certain little pest becomes a best friend. But sometimes, they leave oh so suddenly, leaving you all alone once more. Trigger warning: self-harm and suicide. Oneshot Goth Boy and OC friendship. I'm terrible at summaries.


**A/N: This is my first fanfic for MySims. There will be lots of angst, suicide, death, and self-harm. If you're uncomfortable with that, I suggest you click back. Otherwise, please do proceed.**

The goth stood at the Turkey-on-a-Fork stand at which he worked, letting out an angry sigh. Oh, how he _loathed_ this job. Every day, it was the same thing. Sunburn. Rude customers. The judgmental stares. If he could quit, then he'd do so in a heartbeat.

Events from this day had put him in a particularly bad mood, however. What happened? Chaz. Chaz McFreely happened. The guy just didn't know how to leave him alone. He always had to make fun of him. He always felt the need to call him things like "loser" and "freak" to his face. Goth Boy was sick of it.

"Hiya, Goth Boy!"  
Oh, joy. His absolute favorite part of the day; getting a migraine from having to listen to the annoying purple cat thing ramble on about stupid, insignificant things. "Oh, would you look at that," he muttered, "Closing time! Go home." He could feel Sparky's piercing blue eyes staring at him from behind. "What's wrong?" she whimpered.

He slowly turned to look at her, tears stinging his eyes. How did she know that he was even the slightest bit upset? He'd always thought she was very thick-skulled; that she was totally oblivious to something even if it slapped her right across the face. Yet here she sat, patiently awaiting an answer. After a moment, he finally responded. "I hate my job." That was half true.

Much to his surprise, she approached him and rubbed against his leg affectionately. He couldn't hold it back any more. Slamming his head down on the food cart, he covered his head with his arms and let out a loud sob. He felt the small creature nudge his leg again and heard her whimper softly in concern. He looked down. Her large, blue eyes stared into his crying, bloodshot ones. He sniffed. "Why are you still here? Don't you have a trash can or something to eat out of!?" Sparky sighed. "I could be eating out of a trash can, yeah, but seeing a friend upset is kind of a big deal!"

Goth Boy stared, slightly surprised. After everything, she considered him to be a friend. All he did was shoo her. He always made it clear that she was a nuisance to him.

And yet she considered him to be a friend.

He sniffed and slowly reached down to gently stroke her soft fur. He soon found himself telling her everything. About how he hated his job, how his life was terrible, the whole nine yards. He expected her to get bored, but she actually sat and listened to every word he had to say.

No, this couldn't be right.

Nobody ever stuck around.

They always left.

But stick around is what she did. Over a long period of time, he came to realize that she had become his best friend. He talked to her instead of the spiders. He would slip pieces of turkey to her at work, despite the fact that he could easily get fired for it. He'd let her in on cold nights or when the dogs were after her again or for any reason at all, despite his mother's rule against animals.

Then there was that very day that everything happened. He had let her in the night before due to a bad storm and tried to show her that there really wasn't any reason for her to be afraid of a bit of rain and thunder, though it hadn't done any good. He now stared into the bathroom mirror, scowling at his reflection. "Another day in Hell," he muttered. He reached for one of his gloves when he heard Sparky's voice behind him.

"Are those cat scratches?"

Shit.

Why hadn't he closed the door? That's all he needed, was for his best and only friend for him to know about that. He slammed his forehead against the medicine cabinet. It was such a painfully innocent question. How was he to answer it?  
"No."  
He immediately knew that wouldn't cut it.

"What are they? Sunburns?"  
At this, he let out a frustrated sigh. No. He wasn't going to tell her. He didn't need her knowing. He knew it would only stress her out, knowing what he did to himself on a regular basis, and that she would try to talk him out of it. "No," he responded, "I have to go." He walked past her. She scurried after him, and continued to follow him even after he'd walked out the door. "Hey!" she squeaked, "You never answered my question!" He avoided her gaze. "Just go play with your friends or something!" he snapped. He immediately realized his mistake. He was her only friend. Being a space alien wasn't easy, for she found it hard to fit in with even animals. She stepped back, obvious tears forming in her eyes. "Okay," she whimpered softly, "I'll see you later..."

He slowly turned back around. He could feel her watching him until he was out of her sight.

Needless to say, his day had been shit. Chaz wouldn't leave him alone again, and he didn't get off until late. At the end of the day, he grabbed some extra turkey for Sparky and started on his way home.

He was almost home when he saw something rather unusual. There was a large dark smear on the road, as if something had been forcefully scraped against it. A strong stench of death hung ominously in the air as he proceeded slowly.

His foot suddenly hit something soft.

He immediately knew something had gone horribly wrong here.

_Oh shit..._

He didn't want to do it. He didn't want to look down. He _desperately_ did not want to see what was at his feet. But he knew he had to.

_Please don't let it be what I think it is..._

He slowly and hesitantly looked down.

She lay at his feet, completely motionless. Her formerly fluffy fur was matted with sticky, drying blood. Her face, usually expressing excitement and wonder, was now eternally frozen in an expression of vague horror and pain.

He felt sick. The sight of blood was enough to at least make him feel queasy, but this was far too much for him to handle. He slowly bent down next to her, carefully stroking her cold fur. No. There was no way she was gone. Sparky could never die. Never. He wouldn't let her. "S-Sparky..." the goth stammered, his eyes stinging, "C'mon, wake up, I brought you food." He nudged her. She had to be shitting him. There was no way he was going to let this happen. "Sparklene," he whimpered, using her full name, "Come on, I'll let you in tonight, I'll let you pick out a movie or something." Nothing. He shakily took out a piece of food and held it out to her.

No response whatsoever.

She was gone.

After a moment of silent shock, he stood, enraged tears flowing down his face, his makeup running. He knew it. He knew life was pointless. He knew it was all a fucking game. People come to you, be nice to you for a bit, and then they leave.

_**They always leave.**_

They always leave and they never give a good explanation as to why the hell you shouldn't kill yourself.

And now that she was gone, he didn't have anyone to talk him out of it.


End file.
